


The laugh's on me

by wheremyinhalerat (bearsquares)



Series: But in my dreams we're still screaming [4]
Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Losers Club (IT), Dissociative Amnesia, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Minor Injuries, One Shot, Past Child Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Period-Typical Sexism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 14:00:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14113884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearsquares/pseuds/wheremyinhalerat
Summary: Two losers in over their heads in 1977.Beverly almost loses her mind.Richie almost loses his eyes.





	The laugh's on me

-

 

Typically when your boss invites you to a “business function” you expect a circulating crowd, maybe a free mini bar, and  _ ideally _ some other women, but perhaps that was too ideal for 1977. It could have been okay, at least. It could have been a minor chore, just a little obstacle in the way of a full night’s sleep.

She and her boss could have swept through all of the day’s meetings and the code of professionalism would have carried on into the night.  _ Networking _ , he called it, but he didn't mean for her. He invited her out to L.A. for the meetings. She wanted to come with him. She wanted to learn the language of the deal. There was no way she could stay a designer and come into her own without it. Instead, she was taken to a penthouse full of suits and fake smiles and horrible presumptuous names for her - never Miss Marsh or “excuse me, Miss, have we met?” The only women at the “business function” were paid to be there so she must have been, too.

As the night went on and the men became more intoxicated, she retreated further into her own head.  _ You chose to work for this man. You chose to come here. You asked for this _ . All she could think about was being hit and blamed and grabbed. She  _ was _ grabbed. Her thighs, her knees, her ass, her breasts - she didn’t belong there, not for the reasons she'd wanted.

The saddest thing was none of it surprised her. Her very existence would have made Gloria Steinem pop a blood vessel. As badly as she wanted to do well, as hard as she tried, she fit the description of every woman trying to make it in an industry dominated by men. Her progress would never break even:  _ “Five steps forward, ten steps back _ ” as they said. Having men treat her like shit all her life - knowing it was wrong, hating how it made her feel - never made her any better at avoiding them. She had trapped herself in a lie, insisting she could do everything herself. That idea should've been long dead and buried.

_Once_ _again, Beverly Marsh gets more than she bargained for._

She hid in a bathroom first, locking the door and crawling up onto the counter. The air was thick with cigar smoke and poorly aimed piss. Her body curled up into a defensive ball and she slumped against the mirror. Any tears she could have shed were replaced with ways to blame herself. _You’re smarter than this, Beverly._ _You never should have stayed there. You never should have listened to your boss, he always looked at your ass when your back was turned and you didn't quit. Why the fuck didn't you go to Kay? She's doing really well for herself! Your pants were too tight. You shouldn’t have worn makeup. Why did you assume you could ever make it? You’re so weak. You're a decoration, you're a nameless plaything and that's all you'll ever be. You asked for this._

She hiccuped. “I can’t do this anymore.” Beverly's lips trembled as she wrenched her remaining shoe off, hurling it across the bathroom. It clattered against the rim of a urinal, landing perfectly in the middle of the bowl.

“I quit.”

  
  


Her pantyhose were torn at the balls of her feet from walking barefoot on naked concrete. It was rough and it grated against her blisters but she didn’t register any pain. She could have been walking on broken glass and still wouldn’t give a single shit. Beverly hugged her purse close to her chest, holding her keys tight and silent in one hand. Ever since she stumbled out of the elevator she’d gone into some kind of adrenal trance. Her arms and legs shook like she was about to collapse but all Beverly could think about was getting out. If she could get down to the street and get a cab, maybe she could get back to her hotel room and leave before her boss found out - gather up her clothes and her sketchbook and peel out. She could just disappear and pretend the last four months of her life didn't happen. 

A key jutted out from between each of her fingers. Depending on how she swung, some unlucky asshole could either get an eyeful of her house key or the key to her bike lock. She opened and closed her fist as she walked, blood roaring in her ears with each contraction of her heart. She wanted to hurt someone, she wanted to hurt  _ men _ . The last time she did, though…how long had it been? How far had she run for her life? Her daddy wanted to kill her. 

Beverly took a deep breath and rounded a heavy cement corner.

Her bag dropped to the floor with a smack. 

_ House key or bike lock, which will it be _ ?

He had no business jumping out at her - he shouldn’t have been sneaking around in the empty garage.  _ He asked for it _ .

“ _ WHOA _ -”

She missed. 

_ Why did you think you could fight back _ ? 

Beverly lashed out again and the man threw himself on his ass, trying to scramble away from her.

“ _ Stop _ ! Jesus fucking shit! I’m not trying to hurt you!”

“What the fuck are you doing?!” She barked. The encounter had her heart ready to break out of her chest. Stinging tears welled up in her eyes and she felt a violent urge to kick this idiot man while he was down, try again and again to hurt him until she finally did - until he cried like her, until he was as fucking fed up and frightened as she was.  _ He asked for it. _ “Why the  _ fuck _ would you sneak up on someone like that?!”

He peeked up at her, speaking slowly. “My car is here. I was trying to go home.” Beverly wiped her eyes.  _ Stop thinking like your father, Beverly _ . Once her vision cleared a little, she noticed how roughed up he looked. “I  _ was _ a little bit drunk, but I think I’m good now, sister.”

It was a joke. It was all a big joke.

Beverly’s arms dropped heavily to her sides. She sighed shakily, leaning down to pick up her purse. The man was dressed very nicely; the seamstress half of her brain took a second to admire the invisible seams on his pant cuffs. “Stay on the ground for a minute after I leave,” she said in a strained, raspy voice.

“Yes ma’am. Want my wallet, too?”

“If you’re offering.” She heard herself say it, managing sarcasm even though she only wanted to scream.

The man sounded a little nervous. “Is this your first robbery?”

_ Robbery _ !  _ The way things are going now, maybe I should turn to a life of crime.  _ She giggled deliriously. Beverly was supposed to be walking away as fast as she could but she wasn’t, she was right where she started,  _ giggling _ at the complete absurdity of the situation - he could easily jump up and knock her down and, shit, even  _ that _ would be funny to her.  _ Fuck, I'm an idiot. I'm an idiot. _

He rolled onto his back, still staying on the ground. One of his eyes was beginning to swell and it looked like whoever was beating on him also caught him hard across the cheekbone. He smiled, wincing a little from a split lip. It was probably a very charming smile on a good day. “You don’t have a gun, do you?”

“No.” 

“Got any smokes?”

She  _ tried _ to bite back a laugh. “I do.” The survival instincts had withdrawn. Beverly cursed herself, offering him a hand up.  _ So naïve _ . She only came up to his chin. This complete stranger could easily overpower her and kill her and she wanted to start laughing again.

The guy slumped back against the wall instead, gratefully plucking a cigarette from her pack before she took one herself. “Got a light?” He said through his teeth. “I quit a year ago - thanks, lovely.”

“Five years yesterday.” She lit up and dropped her zippo back into her purse. “20 years on and off. Surprised I'm not dead.”

The man was quiet. “What, did ya steal ‘em from your mom's purse?” Beverly cracked up a little. He watched her for a moment before grinning and casting his tired gaze elsewhere. “It's okay, I did too.” He coughed around his laugh, then exhaled over his shoulder. “You from around here?”

“Chicago.” 

“Huh. Never been there.” Beverly shrugged one shoulder. “If you don’t mind me saying-” He squinted down at her with his good eye. She looked back at him sideways. “You look like you’ve had a real shitty night.”

“You look worse.”

“How so?”

“You weren’t there when you got your ass kicked?”

She watched him swipe a hand through his messy auburn hair, knuckles reddened and scraped. “I seem to remember an ass-kicking.” He bent down, hands on his knees, a touch too close to her face. “How bad is it, doc?”

It was difficult to tell with the state of disarray his mug was in, but Beverly noticed his eyes were blue - almost icy blue. She was back in the kitchen gently laying an ice pack over his nose while he caught the blood that ran out of his nostrils with a dishrag. His glasses were in her other hand, the ones that made his eyes too big for his pale, foxish face.  _ Daddy’s going to kill me _ . 

A jolt of uncertainty zipped through her body and she nearly lost her nerve. “What’s your name?”

“Huh?”

“Your name.”

“Rich Tozier. 5’10”, 152, red, blue, organ donor, and, hey, while I’m at it here’s my social security n-” She gaped at him before a relieved smile spread across her face and he trailed off. There was something hilarious about Richie  _ still _ getting beaten up for mouthing off. “Sorry, I have no idea who you are or why you just tried to gouge my eyes out, but you are extremely pretty - is there a hit out on me or something?”

“God,” Beverly sighed fondly, smoothing his unkempt hair back from his face. He flinched at her touch but he didn't stop her. “You idiot.” He licked at the blood on his lip. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

He took one last thoughtful drag and tossed the butt. “I know you?”

“Mhm.”

His uninjured eye grew wide and uncertain. “Did I get you pregnant?” She fixed him with an incredulous look and thumped him on the shoulder. After a moment, he huffed a grateful sigh, posture sagging in relief. “Oh, thank god.”

_Oh,_ _thank god_ was right - by some merciful coincidence, she bumped into one of the only men she could never hate - unless he really did knock a girl up and run out on her. Beverly held her hand out very formally and he slowly took it, blinking in uncertainty. “Beverly Marsh, pleased to meet you!”

Richie looked down at their clasped hands, up to her face, back down again, back up to her face - “Huh. This makes a lot more sense now.” She raised an eyebrow. “This makes sense.”

“Wha-” His lips were rough and partly scabbed over, but they were warm. It was only a quick, chaste kiss but she felt it all the way down to her knees. He smelled like the inside of a bar and tasted like blood but some weird, goofy part of her thought,  _ boy, this is nice _ . It occurred to her that she may have been with him before even though she could only remember scolding him and bopping him on the head. “ _ Richie _ , geez!”

His lanky arms wrapped around her shoulders and he kissed her neck a few times. Each gentle peck made her want to kiss him back like a lovestruck teenager _. What the hell is going on _ ? “Come take care of me, Bevvie.”

She hadn't heard that name in years. “You’re such a baby.” Her voice wavered, she wanted to break down and cry.  _ Who's the baby now? _

He laughed through his nose and released her, keeping his hands on her shoulders like she’d run away or disappear. “Seriously, can I give you a ride?”

At least he didn’t ask about what happened or where her shoes went. For a few hours, Beverly was hopelessly alone. She was alone, but she could’ve made it - she could have gotten home. “Are you even okay to drive?”

He pressed his lips together. “Can you drive a stick shift?”

“Gimme the keys, Trashmouth.”

“YOWZA!” He burst out laughing, flinching a little from his wounds. “That’s an  _ antique _ . An ar-tee-fact, I tells ya!” 

She took his hand, squeezing their palms together. “Let's get you to bed, you're a mess."

 

**-**

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've seriously missed writing for the novel...aaaahhhh.
> 
> This is part of a larger fic that I've been very slowly adding to but it's fine as a one-shot for now tbh. Might add chapters later if I get around to actually writing Bill in...sorry, Bill.
> 
> An anon actually asked if I'd write Bill/Bev/Richie and uhhh, the intent is still there but it's MAD slow. I'm sorry, anon. ;w;


End file.
